Good try. Except this wasn’t what they were arguing about because everyone in Nebraska knows the Huskers needed to keep the ball on the ground. Whatever they’d been arguing about, obviously, they didn’t want me to know. I stood at the head of the table, giving them each a one-second eye interrogation, using my Super Sheriff investigation skills. “Okay, what’s going on?”
Sarah’s wan smile looked guilty. “Roxy saw me puking and offered me saltines she keeps in her purse.”
“Great. But that’s not what I mean.”
Michael, twin to Douglas and the wheeler-dealer of the group, found a smarmy grin. “What? We’re having some good family time. Join us.”
Even if I could squeeze onto a bench, which I couldn’t, I didn’t feel welcome. So I stood like a thistle in a rose garden, staring down at them.
Diane gave an exasperated huff, something she seemed practiced at, probably from a million corporate meetings she manipulated to her will. “For fuck’s sake.”
My sister-in-law Lauren squeaked at the curse. Susan rolled her eyes. Most ignored it.
Diane shook her head in annoyance. “Here’s the deal. It’s time you start dating. You’re highly marketable. We’re trying to figure out your best option.”
Boom.
That was not what I expected. My jaw dropped, and I stood like a lump of biscuit dough. I snapped my mouth closed, blinked to make sure this wasn’t a nightmare, and spun around.
A hand clasped my bicep. I’d have welcomed a hungry wolf if it’d rescue me from this batch of backstabbers, but I settled for Louise. Shaped like an overripe pear, she wore her hair in a strange perm like she’d stepped out of Grandma Ardith’s high school yearbook. “The other sheriffs are waiting for you.”
I didn’t pause to consider the timing. Louise offered me escape from a deep, boiling stew of humiliation, and I gladly jumped for it.
I dragged Louise away at a clip faster than she was used to, causing parts of her to undulate like an abominable belly dancer. I finally asked, “Why are they waiting for me? The wild cow milking is the last thing.”
Louise caught her breath and slowed to zero mph. “There’s this other thing.”
Remembering why I came to the fairgrounds in the first place, I scanned the crowd for Dad. “Whatever it is, I can’t. I’m working.”
Louise hammered her fists on her hips. “Liar.”
Fine. Maybe she could help. “Have you heard anything about the Olson place?”
Louise disseminated information like a one-woman social media site. Her eyes lit up. “Is there trouble?”
I leaned closer, like I wanted to share something juicy. “Has Norman delivered fuel there?”
She practically salivated. “What’s going on?”
I played Louise like a piano, except I couldn’t read music. “What do you think is going on?”
She paled. “It’s drugs, isn’t it? The kids are having parties out there. Barb was right. You can’t tolerate abandoned buildings hidden out in the hills. Have you been out there?”
I needed to shut this down. “I’m just yanking your chain. There’s no drug house out there.”
Louise wasn’t ready to quit the trail. “It’s a meth house, isn’t it? Some dealers from Omaha think our kids are naive.”
I laughed, pretending I’d set her up and she’d fallen for it. “You’re too easy. Honestly. There’s nothing going on out there.”
She glowered at me. “When will you ever grow up? Now you owe me.”
She paused and a warm breeze ruffled her sweat-damp hair. A heavy scent of hay, horse, and manure wafted over us. She considered a group of teenagers including her son, David, and his older sister, Ruthie. Louise’s eyes narrowed as if she had MegaMom X-ray powers to hear them.
I looked closer. The bushy dark hair. The kid from Marty and Rhonda’s place. He stood taller than most and hung on the outside of the circle with his head dipped, looking at his shoes. A couple of the others leaned toward him as if trying to hear his words. I jerked against Louise, attempting to steer her toward the knot of kids.
Apparently satisfied her kids stayed on the straight and narrow, Louise picked up her pace and spouted words at me like a deranged garden sprinkler. “We thought we could raise a bunch for the Dugans with this. And the other sheriffs agreed, except Lee Barnett balked a little, but Milo convinced him. And it’s going to be fun and you’ll see, it’s all okay.”
I pulled up short. “What did you do?”
She wouldn’t look me in the eye and instead waved to Newt and Earl Johnson, two bachelor brothers around Dad’s age.
I grabbed one of her chins and forced her to look at me. “What?”
6
Louise huffed. “Pie throwing. We wanted the dunk tank instead, but Shorty Cally said it has a leak from when we used it for Principal Barkley at the after-prom party.”
I swiveled on my boot and started in the opposite direction. I couldn’t hang out in a pie booth now. I needed to talk to that kid. He knew Rhonda and Marty, probably his parents. He might know something about the abandoned car and the caller.
Louise grabbed hold of my arm and, since she had the weight advantage, used my momentum to propel me toward the group of three men standing next to a folding table weighted with whipped cream–topped pies.
May Keller, a tough rancher old enough to have played craps with the first Pharaoh and looking like she’d been mummified alongside him, sat behind the table taking money. The line snaked back several yards. Louise was right; slathering the local law enforcement with pastry would be lucrative for the Dugans and their daughter. How could I say no?
The bushy-headed dude would hang out with my nieces and nephew and I’d catch up to them later. Ruthie and David would give me the skinny on the kid.
Louise deposited me in front of Milo Ferguson, Choker County sheriff, Pete Grainger, Chester County sheriff, and Lee Barnett, whose Basset hound expression hadn’t improved since this morning. They’d been sharing a joke, but their easy laughter faded, replaced with their public faces.
I peered over Louise’s head, pinpointing the group of kids, making sure I knew who else hung out with them. When I gave my attention to the sheriffs, I caught Barnett following my gaze.
Milo rested his arms on his potbelly, worrying a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Pete stood next to him, strung tight like a spring, with a dark complexion and brown hair. His friendly smile, eager as always. I tipped my head in greeting. “Gentlemen.”
Pete, sugar to Barnett’s vinegar, held out his hand. I shook it, not having to tilt my head much for eye contact. His military buzz cut and crisp uniform made him look like a Marine, but his cheeriness eased the severity. “I propose we go in order of age. That’s you first,” he said.
I jerked my hand from his. “Way to throw me under the stampeding hooves. I thought you were my friend.”
Milo buried the toothpick in the side of his mouth. “Pete’s everybody’s friend. But he ain’t stupid.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” I lunged toward Milo, and before he could defend himself, I pulled a small plastic tube from his breast pocket. I thumbed the lid off, shook out two toothpicks, and handed them to Louise. “We draw straws.”
“Great idea,” Louise said. She was trying to get in my good graces again.
The three middle-aged sheriffs didn’t like that as much as sending me to slaughter first, but they agreed. Louise snapped the toothpicks. She turned her back to us and hunched over to line them up in her fist.
Barnett cast a mean smile. “Surprised you interrupted your investigation to join us.”
Milo lifted his eyebrows at me. “Got a case?”
Barnett laughed, but his jowls hung low and his belly didn’t jiggle. “I’ll say. A rez car left on the highway by a drunk Indian. Fox thinks some woman was abducted by aliens or something. She’s like a bloodhound sniffing around the country.”
Pete and Milo both looked at me for an explanation. “The car rolled off
the highway and landed on its roof.”
Pete, always a burn of energy, seemed to intensify. “Anyone hurt?”
I shook my head. “No blood. There’s no ID on the car and nobody around.”
Milo sucked on a toothpick. “No blood and if it’s from the rez. Well.”
The other three obviously agreed with this assessment, and even Pete seemed to relax a bit. I didn’t want to go any further. “Do either of you know anything about the new buildings at the Olson place?”
Pete’s deeply tanned face looked blank. Milo shrugged. Barnett laughed again. “She’s all spooked about some preppers moving in. Got the solar panels and windmill and whole nine yards.”
Milo grunted as if building up momentum in his big belly to form words. “Yeah. I’ve got some preppers in Choker County. They mostly keep to themselves.”
Pete’s conversation shot out of him, making me wonder if he could share some of his overabundance of firepower with Milo. “Never give me trouble. They don’t want anything from me, and I leave ’em alone.”
Barnett harrumphed. “We all wanted to be Dirty Harry when we started. But be careful or you’ll end up more Barney Fife.”
That’s what Rhonda had called Barnett. It had obviously stung, and he wanted to pass it on.
Pete’s wife, Tammy, hurried over and wound an arm around him. I always thought Pete had lucked out with Tammy. Though Pete had a plain, almost homely face, and might be considered on the short side, Tammy was a beautiful blonde from Omaha who he’d met in college probably thirty years ago. I liked that in this case, the good guy got the beauty queen.
She gave Pete a peck on his cheek. “I have a clean shirt for you in the pickup.”
Milo guffawed. “Ain’t that sweet. Gloria told me not to kill my fool self and went off to spend the day with her sister in Broken Butte.”
Barnett grunted. “I didn’t tell Sally about this.”
Tammy hugged Pete tighter. “The kids wouldn’t miss seeing their dad tangle with a wild cow. Watching him get pied is a bonus.”
Pete laughed in delight. “Always after their old man.” Pete’s oldest son was an All-State quarterback for Chester County Consolidated High School, and Pete’s daughter had enough 4-H trophies to shingle a house. They seemed like a nice family, and Pete never missed an opportunity to brag on his kids.
Louise whirled around like she’d performed a magic act.
The line to throw pies grew. My youngest brother, Jeremy, gave me a thumbs-up with a devilish grin. If I’d had doubts before, now I knew I’d be a sticky whipped cream mess in a matter of minutes.
Louise thrust her hand out, and Barnett snatched the first straw, keeping it hidden. I picked next, then Milo. Pete Grainger, always polite, took the remaining straw.
Relieved at the long piece he’d drawn, Milo held his up first. “How ’bout that.”
Pete looked worried but slowly opened his palm and held out his hand. Tammy slapped him on the back, and they shared a chaste kiss. She dabbed lipstick from his lips.
I moaned. Milo and Pete both hooted when I showed my sliver to be slightly shorter than Pete’s.
A whispered “Shit” slithered from Barnett’s lips. He tossed his draw onto the ground.
A soft bump to my leg drew my attention to Kyle Red Owl, our shared deputy, as he bent over to pick up Barnett’s straw. Not more than a few inches taller than my five-three frame, Kyle was made of muscle and gave the impression he could spring into action at any moment. Guess Marine training did that for a person.
Kyle held up Barnett’s straw and laughed, his teeth white against his dark skin. “As the old Lakota say, ‘Age before beauty.’”
Milo cringed and pulled in his neck, as if expecting an explosion.
It came in the form of Barnett’s booming voice. “Don’t need Indian-speak to tell me this draw was rigged.”
Good ol’ Pete. He held up his hand. “Whoa there, Lee. We all did it fair and square.”
Tammy’s smile slipped, and she backed away as if Kyle smelled bad. She caught me watching her and brightened again.
Barnett lowered his eyebrows and shifted a ray of anger from Kyle to me. “Isn’t this your weekend off? Why did you take the call this morning instead of Red Owl?”
I’d hoped this wouldn’t come up. I opened my mouth to answer, but Kyle got there first. “I was at a sweat for the youth of Antelope Ridge.”
Milo eyed Barnett as if to see whether he ought to dive for cover. But Pete spoke with concern. “Is everything okay?”
Kyle nodded, worry lodged in the wrinkles on his forehead. “I hope so.”
Barnett exhaled. “You’re kidding me.” He swung his head from Milo to Pete and back to Milo. “We need a deputy we can trust, not one who runs off to the rez at the drop of a hat.”
A few people stopped to stare at us and more started milling our way, sort of like school kids expecting a fist fight.
Although he spoke in a soft voice, steel knifed through Kyle’s tone. “I’m on the clock now, Sheriff Barnett.”
Barnett sneered. “Admirable.” To Milo and Pete, he said, “Told you we need to have Ted back.” He glared at me in challenge.
Since Kyle had taken Saturday off, he’d arranged to come to the office on Monday. I didn’t really need him, but I figured he could use the wages. My budget didn’t have a lot of wiggle room, but making a deputy as happy as possible paid off in terms of availability when I needed him. Along with Kyle being qualified, reliable, and experienced, another big incentive for providing job satisfaction and keeping him on the force, was that as long as we had Kyle, we wouldn’t need to hire another deputy. Namely, Ted.
I wanted to brain Barnett, and I suspected Kyle might be close to throwing the first punch. I stepped forward, hanging on to calm by the tiniest thread.
Louise clapped her hands in her annoying way. “Lee, you step on up there and we’ll get going.”
I tugged Kyle’s arm and pulled him a few steps away, turning my back on the other sheriffs. “Why don’t you patrol the highway?”
Sun soaked into his black hair, and his dark eyes questioned me. “Now?”
I tipped my head toward the other sheriffs. “I think we’ve got enough lawmen here already.”
He considered the other sheriffs. “I don’t really match the set, huh?”
I could commiserate about being odd man out, but what good would that do? “They like you well enough when you give them a weekend off.”
Kyle’s shrug acknowledged the truth. “My uncle Lloyd Walks His Horse served two tours in Vietnam. One guy in his unit, he served with him both times. This guy, a white guy, always called Lloyd Chief. But Lloyd, he doesn’t let it bother him. The guy makes fun of him all the time, never treats him like a true brother. And one night, they get in this terrible firefight. Lots of casualties, lots of soldiers hurt. This white guy gets injured pretty bad. Uncle Lloyd, he takes a hit to the shoulder, but he’s like a Dog Soldier. Man, he’s fighting and hauling his comrades out of danger, like some kind of Lakota legend.”
The other sheriffs looked at me with impatience. I tried to hurry him along. “So your uncle saved the white guy, gained his respect, and now they’re friends.”
Kyle’s eyes traveled to Barnett. “No. Lloyd saved a lot of brothers that day. But the guy that disrespected him, he never made it out.”
At only twenty-eight, Kyle had been in the Marines and spent a couple of years in the deserts of the Middle East. He probably had a few stories of his own.
I wanted to show I supported him despite Barnett’s jabs. “Did the sweat go well?”
His dark eyes clouded. “Sometimes feels like a losing battle. But some of those kids, they’ve got light in them. Gives me hope for the tribe, you know?”
Except he looked more sad than hopeful, kind of how I felt when I thought about Carly. “Wish they knew how big the world is and how full of possibilities.”
Kyle nodded and walked away, and I turned back to the pie throwing, ant
icipating Barnett getting creamed.
Louise bustled over to Barnett with a plastic tablecloth. “Quit being such a baby. It’s for a good cause.” She wound it around his neck like a barber’s cloth and snatched his cowboy hat from his head, showing thinning grayish hair, damp with sweat. He plodded to the chair set up thirty feet from the pie table and flopped down. He threw his own version of The Look to the people in line, but no one backed away.
The first pie throwers were giggling grade school girls. I tried to hide my disappointment when they missed.
Then a pie flew through the air and smacked into Barnett’s face, cream coating his hair and splashing onto his brown pants. It was followed by two more in rapid fire, like an automatic baseball pitching machine gone haywire. The sixteen-year-old boy tossing them wore a maniacal grin in direct contrast to Barnett’s murderous grimace.
Louise grabbed the fourth pie before he launched it. “You can’t throw after you already hit him. I’m going to charge you double for those other two, and you’re banned from any more today.”
Barnett didn’t bother to lick the cream from his lips, and it looked like rabies frothing his mouth. If I were that kid, I’d be heading for the hills.
The kid laughed, all teeth, long legs and arms. “So worth it.” Barnett had probably picked him up for speeding or underage drinking.
Barnett jumped up and stomped forward, untying the tablecloth. “Your turn, Fox.” He thrust the cream-soaked cloth at me, and I barely grabbed hold before he shot toward the line.
He pushed my brother, Jeremy, out of the way at the front and fished in his pocket, coming out with crumpled bills. He thrust them at May and palmed a pie.
He didn’t smile as he waited for Louise to tie on my bib. Forget about the sticky cream clotting in my hair and drawing flies. When Barnett shot that pie at me, the plate might break my nose.
Barnett’s chin twitched like Clint Eastwood right before he pulled the trigger.
7
Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3) Page 5
